Dragonsbane (Book 3) (29 page)

A few seconds later, Kael took his hand away. He reached up and shut the trough of flame, plunging the forge into darkness. As Kyleigh’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw his hands flex at his sides. It was a subtle movement — she wondered if he even realized that he’d done it. But she knew immediately what it meant:

“You were whispering. How in blazes did you figure out how to stick your hand into dragonflame?”

His eyes darted away as he shrugged. “It wasn’t that difficult.”

She didn’t press it. She’d learned never to come at Kael from the front: he would raise his guard and fend her off with an eye-rolling amount of stubbornness. She would have to circle him carefully and wait for the opportunity to present itself.

“Are you ready to talk?”

He raised his brows. “About what?”

“Aren’t there questions you’d like to ask me?”

“None that I can think of.”

His mouth stayed serious, but there was a strange lilt to his words — one that seemed familiar … yet out of place. He turned his shoulder to her; his face was suspiciously innocent as he trailed his gaze about the room. It was so unusual that it took her a moment to realize what was happening:

Kael was playing with her.

“I once knew a boy who would’ve died rather than walk around without his shirt,” Kyleigh said as she watched him pace.

“Well, he’s got far more important things to worry about, now.”

“Really? You aren’t you worried someone’s going to tattle on you for being a whisperer?”

“No. Who would they possibly tell?” Kael paced to the end of the room and turned. His hands stayed noticeably inside his pockets as he paced back — leaving his chest exposed.

The last time she’d seen him like this, there’d been bones sticking out of him. But now those bones were covered over in a layer of flesh. New lines had appeared along his skin, lines that carved shadows into the pale — lines, she was quite certain, that weren’t bones at all.

It was rather … unexpected.

With no small amount of effort, Kyleigh forced her eyes back to his face. “So there isn’t a single question bouncing around inside that red head of yours?”

“I supposed there isn’t.”

“Why do I find that difficult to believe?”

“Maybe you aren’t trying hard enough,” he said.

She had to try very hard indeed to keep from shoving him as he turned.

“Do you spend all your time here?”

He was back to being serious once more. She was slightly relieved. “Yes. Well, except for dinner.”

“You weren’t at dinner yesterday.”

“I was … busy. I’ll be there tonight,” she said when he looked at her.

His brows furrowed and his lips clamped together tightly as he glared about the forge. “Where do you sleep?”

“In that corner over there. I promise it’s more comfortable than it looks.”

A dangerous patch of red sprouted across his face as he glared at the floor planks. “That couldn’t possibly be comfortable.”

“It isn’t bad. I’ve certainly had worse.”

“You have?”

She smirked. “I know you’re going to find it completely shocking, but this isn’t my first time in prison.”

“I’ll bet it isn’t,” he grumbled. Then he straightened. “Well, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Kael, wait.”

He stopped in the doorway, brows raised.

She took a deep breath. “Are you certain you’re all right? There’s nothing you want to ask about … your past? I’d be happy to answer anything.”

“I know you would. It’s just …” His fist pounded into the doorframe — calm, but firm. “I’m not ready yet.”

That was all he was going to say about it. The way Kael handled his emotions always reminded her a bit of how caterpillars handled the spring: he would bury them away, letting them wriggle and grow until they finally burst free.

The problem was that by the time Kael wanted to talk about anything, it’d become a six-legged creature with bulging eyes and a frightful set of wings.

*******

Kael came late to the Hall that night. Dinner was already halfway over by the time he finally turned up, and Kyleigh intended to ask him where he’d been. But no sooner had he shoved through the doors than the wildmen sprang their trap: half a dozen warriors armed with swords bounded over their tables and surrounded him.

After seeing how handily he’d dealt with Griffith, most humans would’ve left him alone. But the wildmen weren’t like most humans. They would never let a monster sleep in the brush — they’d much rather poke it awake.

“You don’t belong here, mutt. Leave now, or we’ll kill you,” one of the warriors said. It might’ve been a convincing threat, had he not been grinning.

Kael sighed heavily. “Can I have a moment to think about it?”

It was a strange answer, given the fact that he was unarmed, shirtless, and facing the prospect of having to fight his way through a half-dozen swords. Not surprisingly, it seemed to confuse the warriors.

In the second it took them to adjust, Kael did som
ething strange. His hands passed over his limbs, down his chest, across his neck and over his head. His fingers dragged as if he was trying to scrape something off his skin.

“What is it? Why is there such an odd, unsettling silence?” Baird hissed.

“Kael’s about to clobber them,” Griffith said. The battle hadn’t even started yet, and the blue marble was already rolling between his fingers.

Finally, Kael made a motion that looked as if he was washing his hands. Then he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m not leaving. I suppose you’re going to have to kill me.”

The warriors attacked in a swarm.

Kael darted to the edge of their circle, swinging his limbs out beside him as he went. Two of the warriors were knocked onto their backs. Their mouths parted in surprised
O
s as they struck the ground.

“That one wrestled a boar by his tusks yesterday,” Griffith said, pointing to a downed man. “Pinned him and put him to sleep with his fist. Now look at him — knocked on his rump like a piglet! Ha!”

Kael sprinted for one of the tables. He vaulted over the heads of some craftsmen — who quickly scattered out of the warriors’ charging path. Kael stood on the table’s top and waited calmly as the warriors formed their ranks. Then he attacked.

The first warrior took a plate to the top of his head and stumbled back in surprise. The rest threw up their arms, trying to shield themselves against his blows. Kael defended his ground with dishes and cups, platters and plates. They shattered across the warriors’ skin, sending blinding pieces into the air. One warrior climbed the far end of the table and tried to attack him from behind.

Instead, he took a hambone to the face.

“What a walloping that was!” Griffith’s painted fists slammed into the tabletop and he howled. His arms trembled as if it took everything he had to keep from charging into the fray.

Other wildmen joined his cries, their voices rising in a peculiar song. The warriors fed on the thrill of battle. The craftsmen fed on the excitement in their cries, and the pounding rhythm of their fists traveled back to their warriors — carrying their frenzy to new heights.

Setheran had always said that to be a whisperer was to be understood. The differences in their talents gave each other everything they needed. They were like a flame that didn’t bow to the wind, a fire that fed itself. Kyleigh had never seen anything like it — not among beast or men. Together, the whisperers made the perfect creature.
And in the very center of it all was Kael.

The warriors quickly grew frenzied by the craftsmen’s song. They lost themselves in a wild attack. One grabbed the table and heaved it onto its side — launching Kael over their heads. He landed on one foot and swung the other out behind him, catching a warrior under the chin. Kael had already added a new victim to his count before the last had finished crumpling to the ground.

He stepped in a careful pattern: turning to escape the warriors’ traps, darting out of the path of swords and dodging their grasps. It was a mesmerizing dance — one that made Kyleigh’s heart thrum in time with his steps. She watched, breathless, as Kael battered every hole in the warriors’ defense.

If an arm was raised too high, his fist collided with their ribs. If a foot was off balance, he knocked it out from under them. He swiped his arm against the flat of a warrior’s blade, popped it free, and caught it by the hilt. Then he flung it from his hand.

It wound up stuck in the wall above Gwen’s head — buried firmly between the ears of her prized bear.

“Kill him!” she screamed.

Only one warrior remained. His sword swooped down and Kael’s hand shot up to meet it. Kyleigh held her breath as they hurtled towards one another. They were going to collide — and no matter how clever he was, Kael’s flesh was no match for steel. She didn’t even have a chance to gasp as the blade struck him … struck, and promptly shattered into pieces.

What in blazes …?

She watched through a fog as Kael knocked the final warrior unconscious with a quick punch. He said something to Gwen that made the wildmen cheer; she replied with something far less savory. But it all felt like foam in Kyleigh’s ears. 

She’d figured out what he’d done — how he’d shattered the sword and how he’d been able to stick his hand inside her flames. She’d figured it out … but she still couldn’t believe it.

As the wildmen filed out of the Hall, Kael stayed to wake the warriors and make certain their wounds were healed. They chattered excitedly as he woke them. They hounded him with questions. He gave answers that made them frown and walk away, disappointed.

Finally, his steps halted beside her.

“What have you done?”

His eyes went wide at her question. “I haven’t told anybody — I swear I haven’t. It’s your secret to tell.”

It was far more than a secret. “You’ve done the impossible,” she said quietly. “You’ve managed to find someway to conjure dragonscale armor out of nothing.”

His glare burned her. “You don’t trust me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have given you those gauntlets in the first place.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

She was worried about the future. She was worried that something she’d done would change the course of history — that the scribes would be able to trace a red line across a bloody final chapter to her name and say:
Here’s where the darkness began
.

“Nothing,” she said after a moment. “I suppose I’m just asking you to be careful.”

They left the Hall in an uneasy silence. He didn’t speak, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. So she listened to his breathing and the steady beat of his heart.

“Goodnight,” he said as they reached the forge.

He walked up the slope, never breaking pace. Kyleigh watched after him for a moment before she opened the door …  and she took a startled step back.

There were strange smells inside the forge: the scent of pine mixed with the musk of animal. Kyleigh’s eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and the strange, shadowy mass in the corner of the room took shape.

It was a bed.

The bed’s frame was carved from pine and dressed in animal skins. A soaring dragon had been carved into the headboard; the legs had curled claws at their ends, each wrapped around an orb. An assortment of furs stuffed with what smelled like the down of geese padded its center. Folded on top of the fur covers was a pair deerskin trousers.

Kyleigh stood there, staring at the bed and the trousers for nearly a full minute. Kael had never given her a gift before. She tried to remind herself that human gifts had many hundreds of meanings.

But as she studied the careful lines of his work, saw how each stitch sat so tightly, how it all seemed to come together in one stunning picture, almost alive in its beauty — she began to realize that some gifts had meanings that rang true across all sorts of hearts.

Sometimes, the message was clear.

Chapter 26

Lightning Behind the Clouds

The summer trading season dragged on to such exhaustive lengths that Thelred had begun to wonder if it would ever end.

Muggy air hung thickly over the chancellor’s island castle. It was one of those windless days — the sort of day that left the sails empty and the deck baking hot. The weather would’ve been death to any man trapped at sea. His ship would drift sideways along the current, helpless and at the mercy of the waves while the sun drained him of his strength. Yes, to burn alive in the middle of the sea would’ve been a slow, humiliating way to die.

But it still wasn’t the worst fate Thelred could think up.

Blue flags draped from the castle, slack and still. Heat rose in waves all around them. He could see it shimmering off the cobblestone and along the arched tops of the merchants’ carts. Bodies moved in a line through the scant maze of earth left uncovered by the stalls.

Feet rolled beneath trousers and skirts, carrying with them a mass of frilled, colorful sludge that never seemed to end. Mouths moved constantly: opening and closing, blasting more hot air into a space that was already miserable enough. What could they possibly have to say? How could anybody stand to wander around with his mouth hanging trap-open in this miserable, awful —?

“Where’s the battle?” Aerilyn called from behind him.

Thelred wished there
had
been a battle. He’d rather have a sword hanging from his middle than have to endure this blasted heat. “There isn’t one,” he muttered.

“Exactly. So would you please quit stalking about like we’re expecting an invasion from the north? You’re scaring off all of our customers.”

That was easy for her to say. Aerilyn had traveled with merchants her whole life. She was used to the crowds and the stink — and the stifling heat, apparently. There wasn’t so much as a dark patch on her pale pink dress.

No, she lounged in a chair behind their stall, feet propped on an empty crate and one arm draped absently across the now-noticeable bump on her belly. She waved a blue fan with the other hand, keeping the heat off her face and neck.

She might’ve felt at home in this baking under-realm of a castle, but Thelred was used to a certain kind of life — one in which he’d bargained with his sword. “I’m not stalking. And I haven’t scared anybody off.”

Aerilyn pointed over his shoulder with her fan. “Really? Then what are
they
rushing off for?”

Thelred turned in time to see three young ladies cutting out of his way. They squealed when they saw him staring and darted off — cramming themselves and their frilly trappings down a passageway lined with baubles.

Aerilyn’s brows rose in mocking arcs. “They must’ve seen a mouse.”

Thelred tugged roughly on his trousers, even though he knew the peg would still show. “Well, what did you expect? Nobody’s going to get anywhere near us with this leg sticking out.”

“Nobody’s going to get anywhere near us with that
frown
sticking out,” Aerilyn retorted. “The leg is fine — charming, even.”

“It isn’t charming. It’s monstrous.” Thelred pulled on his trousers again, baring his teeth as he felt his raw skin scraping against the leather ties. “Who wants to buy anything from a one-legged man?”

Aerilyn pursed her lips. “If you’d stop being so beastly, I think you’d find that people are
more
willing to buy from a one-legged man. It’s all in how you limp.” She glanced down the stall, where a middle-aged merchant was inspecting a barrel of apples.
Observe
, she mouthed.

The merchant picked up an apple, turning it this way and that. “How much for a sack of these?”

“Twenty,” Aerilyn said.

He snorted. “No sack of apples is worth twenty. I could buy full-cooked tarts for less than twenty. I’ll offer you six.”

“Six?” Aerilyn said quietly. Her hand moved from the arm of her chair to the bump on her belly. “Could you do ten?”

He stared at her hand. Slowly, his brows went up and he let out a heavy sigh. “Very well. Ten it is — but not a copper more.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Aerilyn waved, and a grinning pirate stepped up to take the merchant’s coin. “Make sure he gets the best we have to offer.”

“I’ll pick them out myself,” the pirate said.

The moment the merchant and his apples had wandered out of earshot, Aerilyn gave Thelred a rather smug look. “See? Having a condition can improve your bargaining — if you use it properly, that is. No one’s going to feel sorry for you if you insist on scowling the skin off of them.”

“Good. I don’t want them feeling sorry for me. And I don’t have a
condition
— I’m a bloody cripple,” Thelred snapped. Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. He pulled roughly on the neck of his tunic. “I don’t see why we’ve got to be here again. We were just at this blasted castle!”

“A month ago,” Aerilyn reminded him.

“Right. And we made plenty of gold. So why do we have to drag our ship out here again if we’ve already got enough to feed the Bay?”

Aerilyn jabbed her fan at the blue shield on the chest of his tunic. “The chancellor’s council is in session — and like it or not, being the only merchant allowed in the Endless Plains makes you a part of that council,” she added when he started to argue.

He didn’t need to be reminded. Having that thing stitched to his tunic was reminder enough. It reminded him that he belonged to Chaucer — that he had to answer his every beck and call.

He had no idea what they were voting on. He never knew. All the other councilmen seemed to have at least some idea of what to expect, but Thelred didn’t care
enough about the politicking and rumor-chasing to find out. To him, a session meant having to sit in a stuffy room for however long it took to draft a law and pass a vote — which, he’d quickly discovered, could take ages.

At their last meeting, Chaucer had kept them locked up for nearly an entire day. The servants weren’t allowed inside if the doors were closed. And in order to open the doors, the chancellor’s cabinet needed to be in agreement — which they weren’t. So the whole council had gone without food or drink for hours while Chaucer droned on about taxes.

Aerilyn had said it was some sort of trick: Chaucer had been trying to starve the votes he needed out of the opposing councilmen, and it’d worked. But by the end of it all, Thelred was furious — and having to sit in one place for so long had given him the chance he needed to plan his revenge.

So when it came time to open the voting chalice, he’d had some of the pirates drop Chaucer a little … gift, from the balcony.

“No mischief this time,” Aerilyn warned, as if she’d been reading his thoughts. “We’ve been lucky so far, but Chaucer already suspects that one of us was responsible for the bee incident — it isn’t funny!”

She batted at the pirates who’d been snickering behind her, swatting them away with her fan.

“Dropping an angry hive into the voting chalice isn’t appropriate councilman behavior! It wasn’t even that clever … all right, it was
slightly
clever.” Aerilyn’s brows dropped quickly over her smile. “But no more tricks. One toe out of line, and Chaucer will lock you all straight in the dungeons.”

“Let him try,” Thelred grumbled. He could feel the heat settling in the nub of his leg. It was pounding. Sweat rubbed him raw, scratched him against the leather. If he stood still, he would do nothing but think about it. So he started to walk.

“Where are you going?” Aerilyn called after him.

“To stretch my blasted leg out,” he snapped.

Thelred lurched through the crowded streets. The sludge peeled out of his way. Eyes scraped across him. Everyone was watching — no, they were staring. Their eyes were drawn to the clatter of his leg and they gaped at him openly, as if he deserved to be gaped at … and perhaps he did.

Thelred gasped against the stabbing of his knee for as long as he could before his breath grew too short. He stopped and balanced himself against a nearby cart, closing his eyes as the throbbing relented. The ache was still there. It would always be there, just as people would always be staring at him. But with his eyes closed, at least he couldn’t see the people.

There was nothing he could do about the ache.

The footsteps around him followed a pattern: the strollers, the rushers — the stomping of spoiled children. It was such a familiar racket that Thelred didn’t even realize he was listening to it until he heard something that sounded out of place.

Authoritative steps — the march of a guard about his duties. This was a sound Thelred had always had to be especially wary of, and he focused on it immediately.

A young forest man stepped out of the crowd and headed purposefully towards the gates. He wore a deep green tunic with the grand oak of Countess D’Mere stamped upon his chest — stamped right there in the middle, shining like a beacon. That dark-haired codpiece hadn’t even tried to hide it.

When the guards at the gates spotted him, Thelred expected him to get thrown out on his arse. But instead, they parted to let him through.

Thelred took a few halting steps forward. The guards had seen him. They knew full well what he was — and they’d still let him through. They waved him on like he had every right to be there, as if the Countess had any business at all in the seas. What were they think …?

Chaucer.

Bloody Chaucer, that idiot.

Pain stabbed him with every step, but Thelred willed himself towards the gates. The guards saw the badge on his chest as he approached and had moved well out of his way by the time he reached them.

“Councilman,” one of them grunted.

Thelred didn’t reply. He kept his eyes on the dark back of the forest man’s head. Everything else was a blur: the people, the carts and wagons, the guards who paced about their watches — they were nothing more than shadows in the corners of his eyes. He could follow at a distance in the courtyard. But when the forest man ducked inside the castle, Thelred had to hurry to catch up.

Blasted leg. He cursed as he swung it up the steps and to the large front door. The grand room in the heart of the castle was teeming with servants. They swarmed here and there, laying out the tables and chairs in preparation for the session.

Thelred knew it would be a dull evening. He was beginning to understand why Lysander had dumped the whole business on him in the first place: sitting through rump-numbing meetings was about the only thing he was good for.

The forest man’s head bobbed through the crowd, and Thelred followed closely. He glanced away when a familiar clanging sound caught his attention. A small army of servants was busily working a new piano out of a crate. He was certain the pale wood the instrument had been carved from couldn’t be found anywhere in the High Seas.

Chaucer, you idiot.

Thelred followed the forest man out of the ballroom. Deeper down the passageway, the noise of the servants faded — which made the clumping of his peg echo all the louder. Soon he had no choice but to slow and step carefully.

He cursed under his breath at the next corner — and swore aloud when he saw the hallway was empty. The forest man was gone.

Countless passageways twisted around the castle. If Thelred didn’t hurry up, he could lose him for good. He’d managed to go a few paces down the hall when he heard familiar steps coming from behind him. He turned in time to see the forest man cross the end of the hallway.

How had he gotten behind …?

Thelred didn’t have time to think about it. He moved as quickly as his leg would allow, lumbering to the hallway’s end. When he glanced around the corner, he saw the forest man standing outside a door. At his knock, a muffled voice bid him inside.

Thelred waited until the door had closed behind him before he ventured out.

He knew this hallway. This was where Chaucer kept his office. After what had happened to the Duke, the chancellor seemed unwilling to take risks: he kept his office in a windowless room on the bottom floor.

There was a brass keyhole set into the door. Thelred bit his lip against the stabbing in his leg as he bent to look through it. All he could see was a tapestry of a ship and the hem of a woman’s dress. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other. He could see the slight heels of her pale blue slippers from beneath her skirt.

“I thank you for the gifts,” a voice said — a voice so solemn and undisturbed that he knew it belonged to Chaucer. “The instrument is very fine,
of course. But I’m rather looking forward to discovering what’s inside those bottles.”

“My gift to the council — for welcoming me on such short notice,” a woman replied. “It’s an oak-aged liquor. I was hoping you might use it to open the session.”

“I see no reason why not. Having a bit of drink in us can only make the vote go smoother.” A moment of silence. Then, quite suddenly: “But I don’t understand why he sent you. I’ve already spoken with His Majesty’s envoy. He knows I’m open to an alliance.”

Thelred’s breath caught in his throat.